Jupiter
by Writer Awakened
Summary: First in my "Dodekatheon" story series. TG Cid. A vignette. Cidolfas Orlandu is a legendary warrior, a great man, a solemn traveler, and an absent father, having outlived many of his old friends. It is, of course, only the way it was fated to be.


Jupiter

-

_My sword, my life. Wasn't that what I said? When I chose to fight, I did so because it was my life to give. There is something infinitely important about making the sword and the life the same in order to save another._

The battlefield, and all the places in-between, were dirty, grimy, awful places to spend time, and not very scenic places to walk, either. The parts of Ivalice that Cidolfas Orlandu walked through, in fact, were singularly awful, and for innumerable fathoms of road, the only lush fields visible were the fields of dead bodies, some of them emblazoned as Nanten, some as Hokuten. The only grass for miles around was dead and brown, sometimes red from when the bodies lying around piled too high. Worse, these were the battlefields no one knew anything about, heard anything about, cared anything about. These were the empty pages in history when the famous fields of war—Fuse Plains, and the royal grounds, for example—would surely court hundreds of scholars and hundreds of textbooks of varying levels of accuracy in the years after the war's end.

Cidolfas was finally free again, now bearing witness to the "true" world again, and given real air to breathe, air outside the walls of his musty prison cell. Olan was elsewhere, in the opposite direction. His young stepson, he with a similar name and a similar, if more youthful, outlook, had elected to remain in the land behind.

_Olan is used to being alone, I suppose. I shouldn't feel so guilty leaving. He has things to do on his own, anyway. Be well._

The particular field that Cid now walked through was bitterly cold, with a chill even worse. Some bodies were strewn around, here and there, some untouched, some defiled, some mummified crudely in slipshod wool sacks, some buried in shallow graves so the tips of their noses popped out from the dirt. Picturesque Ivalice. He pulled his brown-gray hood over his head to stem the vicious chill, and looked over at the uncovered heads of the soldiers around him.

_God save them. And I hope, above all, that there is one. Save all of these brave people, Ramza and others alike. They each said 'my sword, my life' also. Heavens, I would give all the good luck I've ever had to save them from death. And to think that I've lived as long as I have, when all these poor souls died at a quarter my age!_

Cid's brow furrowed, walking along. Walking through these sorts of fields, where graves were made every few feet, Cidolfas never had time to look at the sky. In some places, when the going was slow enough, he had time to send off every dead man and woman he saw, and sometimes even enough time to read the jagged headstones of respected soldiers, whereupon someone often crudely carved epitaphs with a sharper stone. 'Here lies a brave man', 'He will be loved', 'God will have him,' and sometimes—this field being largely Nanten ground— 'Curse you to hell' on a stone above the body of a Hokuten man, his corpse battered to a point where not even family would recognize him.

It had been a day or two since anything resembling a skirmish happened, ever since they started walking through the older battlefields, maybe because of karma. Battles never seemed to break out among fields of dead, Cid noticed. Was that because of respect for the dead, or simply a product of requiring a good, clean battlefield to fight evenly on? Impossible to tell.

_My sword, my life. I told him that, didn't I? Olan said he had his own reason for living._

…

_I know we're all after the same things. You forgave me for going off without you, but I couldn't forgive myself if you end up dead without me dying first._

However long the war took, it was inevitable that one day it would end. And, just as the war would end, so too would a new war begin. Then, just as before, another eager young knight turned veteran would walk among a field of dead and wonder why he was so lucky to be alive.

_Why? _Cid wondered. _Why has fate kept me here for so long? Maybe before I knew that I was destined to be great, but I don't know anymore. There is a reason, though, I know. Just remaining must be a reason._

Cidolfas looked into the sky, still gray and ominous, some of the clouds charcoal black, maliciously threatening to rain thunder and lightning, but never doing so. The sun had shined brightly several days ago, but recently there had been nothing but grayed skies and foul weather, mostly rain. The sky was furious. In some of the small villages and townships among the countryside, some of them only inhabited by women, children, and the deathly old, the women and children were furious that the sky wouldn't let the people run out in the fields under the blue sky and the orange sun. They all said that even the crops were furious, growing just enough to feed the starving and none else, as if they were screaming for someone to till their fields, when in truth there were few remaining who could.

Cidolfas Orlandu was furious. His fury lived only deep within his heart, only to the point that when he saw the fallen form of a soldier, a little bit escaped and surfaced as pity and sadness. For a long time—maybe forever—his fury, the fury of the Thunder God, all-mighty and all-caring, was quiet. These were not the days to turn on his fury, and there was no one on earth or in the sky worth turning his fury on. The last bits of evident fury were left in his sword when he swung and prayed that his dead foe would feel a peaceful rest.

The only full emotions left were sadness and caring, the most honest potions of love and respect he could ever give the world. Little bits and pieces were given to the little toy soldiers unwound and magnificent, some were sent faraway to the women and children waiting in grief and in unison, breaths held tight. Some pieces were saved for his stepson, far away and becoming farther with every step, and the rest of his love was saved for when they reunited, maybe on earth, maybe—truth willing—in Heaven, or maybe only in a hazy vision witnessed on his dying day.

_My sword, my life. That's an honest reason. I'll always believe that._


End file.
